It’s about time I tackled a topic that, I guarantee you, every coupled person will have an opinion on.

Sharing the bed.

No subject will catalyze a heated argument amongst a couple more quickly than bed-sharing politics.

I tried it at the pub Friday night, around a table with a bunch of people. Sure enough, within seconds of bringing it up, each couple was pointing fingers, raising voices, and slinging accusations at each other about their behaviour in the realm of slumber.

“You’re a cover hog.”

“No, YOU steal the sheets.”

“At least I don’t sprawl out like a starfish . . .” (etc).

First off, why do long-term couples end up choosing a “side” of the bed?

This is something that has changed a few times for James and I. At first, I would sleep on whatever side was the “outside” of the bed, or, the side not up against the wall. I don’t like being by the wall. I don’t know why.

Then, we put our bed in the middle of the room, and I chose the right side. That went on for a few years, but when we bought this house, I wanted to switch, and now I sleep on the left side.

Yet, when we were travelling around Australia and New Zealand, no matter what hotel we stayed in, or whose house we crashed at, I always beelined for the left side of the bed, and James to the right side, without ever exchanging a word about who was sleeping where. Why do we even need a “side” at all?

Then, there is the matter of learning to share while unconscious. It’s like an advanced skill set built upon general kindergarten sharing lessons, but with the complexity of extending those principles to one’s unconscious mind.

In university, I shared a single dorm bed with my boyfriend. Now, I don’t understand how that could have been remotely comfortable, and how I ever got any sleep. (Wait – I don’t think I did get much sleep. I think that was the point).

But generally, every man I’ve ever shared a bed with on a semi-regular basis has learned to adjust to sharing in time. Even though unconscious, or semi-conscious, he could usually sense when he had intruded so far as to nearly push me off the bed, then usually retreated.

James was born without this gene.

James is a scary sleeper. He doesn’t quite have night terrors, nor does he sleepwalk, but he gets more exercise while unconscious than he ever does while awake. Sometimes, he rolls and rolls and rolls and rolls and rolls on the spot. In the morning, I tell him he averaged about 70 rpm.

Or, he does crazy things with his elbows. The elbow is the hardest part of the body. Having it jutted violently into your ribs, or knock you in the skull while the arm’s owner brings it rapidly down from above his head, is not ideal.

A week or so ago, James swam Lake Erie in his sleep. Or he was cycling on the Tour de France. I couldn’t tell. The legs kept going, going, kicking in a circle. To the left. To the right. I woke him up, and he was so confused. He is ignorant of his noctural athletic endeavours.

Sometimes, while James is sleep-boxing, or paddling a canoe, or whatever, he takes the duvet with him. Usually, it ends up pinned underneath his heavy frame, which makes for two cold people.

He didn’t believe me that he not only stole the covers, but pinned them in a headlock, so, we set out to find the truth scientifically.

A couple of years ago, determined to prove that *I* was the bed-messing offender, James set up his camera on a tripod, pointed at the bed. He programmed it to take a picture every 15 minutes, and set it at a nice, long exposure so no flash was necessary to get a clear picture in the dark.

I cannot show the results here, because pictures of James’ bare booty do not belong on TheStarPhoenix website. Hence, my hand-drawn diagrams of our bed issues.

Needless to say, I was mostly vindicated by the pictures. A scan through the images found that I do move more often than James, but I roll back and forth in place — left, right, centre, right, left — staying generally on the same spot.

When James moves, however, he makes big lateral flops, so his lateral sleeping footprint is substantially larger. And that is how the covers get underneath him.

Oh, but James claims: I am a more cruel bedmate, because when it is cold, I snuggle right up behind him for warmth. If he wiggles away a little bit to get some space, then I wiggle right into that new space to stay close. He moves another centimetre away, I nudge up behind. Soon, he claims, he is balanced on the edge of the bed, perilously close to the sharp precipice and possibly millimetres away from an unwelcome tumble onto the hardwood floor. I’d like to point out James has never actually fallen out of the bed.

I think this (often-heard) complaint is merely an excuse, because, James doesn’t like to be the little spoon (the one cuddles from behind). He likes to be the big spoon, or, in other words, the person squishing the life out of me as if I were his childhood stuffed toy. Funny, when he gets to be the big spoon, suddenly personal space or lateral movement in the bed doesn’t occur to him as a problem.

But I *also* prefer to be the big spoon. I want to be the cuddler, not the one being crushed from behind and gasping for breath. James is a large man, and can’t moderate the amount of strength he uses to grip his unwitting prey. Let me tell you, it’s a lot. So, in addition to our spatial battle, we have a power struggle going on, too.

“I wanna cuddle you.”

“No! I want to cuddle you!”

“NO. My turn.” (etc).

Here is the final battleground we have a hard time agreeing on: Appropriate space that should be fairly alloted to each sleeper.

I’m 5-foot-6, of medium build. I’m not huge, but I’m not tiny, either. I deserve half the Queen-size bed.

James is six feet tall, and heavy set, and, with a lot of thrashy limbs. He believes, because he is larger, he should be entitled to a larger share of the bed.

I say, no way. I like to sprawl, too. Lengthwise, he fits onto the bed just fine without requiring any diagonal position to keep both head and toes warm and comfortable. And he’s certainly not so wide that he actually fills more than half of the bed’s width while unmoving. So, why is he entitled to more bedspace than I am?

Okay, maybe he can have 9/16ths of the bed. On a generous day, I’d even say 5/8ths. But 2/3rds of the bed? 3/4? That is totally hogging.

Usually, when I come to bed later than him, I find him splatted out , one limb defiantly ensconsed in each corner, as if defending its rightful territory. I can’t move him, because he’s too heavy. Sometimes, a firm nudge, or using the leverage of one arm or leg will prompt him to roll over (usually while emitting a window-shaking snore). But more often, I have to wake him up, and say: “You have to share the bed.”

*Groan. Grumble. Roll. Loud snore.*

Am I a perfect sleeper? No. Do I sometimes steal the covers, drool on his pillow, or elbow him in the head? Yes, it has happened. But, when he reports back about my deviant bed behaviour, I am usually outwardly pleased — like I have finally scored a goal when my opponent has already had his puck in my net 100 consecutive times.

I don’t want our bed to be a battleground, but how do you tell a person’s unconscious mind to be more thoughtful of others and share?

I don’t literally lose much sleep during the bed marathons or the rototilling anymore, because I’ve learned to sleep through it.

But, as a species that spends much of our lives sleeping with other people, shouldn’t we have adapted better to it?

Does anyone else have a bed battle with their partner? Got any tips for sleeping peacefully with a bear?

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